


My Biggest Enemy is Me

by looselips



Series: peterick one shots [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: 2013, Drabble, Eating Disorder, Established Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Srar era, implied/referenced eating disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:21:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/looselips/pseuds/looselips
Summary: There was a part of Patrick that wanted to scream no; that wanted to kick and cry and throw a tantrum like the overgrown toddler his food choices suggested he was because,fuck, no, I’m not.There was a bigger portion though -- the logical adult that, thankfully, lived somewhere inside even the most med-less version of his body now -- that knew getting angry wouldn’t solve anything.
Relationships: Patrick Stump/Pete Wentz
Series: peterick one shots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847362
Kudos: 27





	My Biggest Enemy is Me

**Author's Note:**

> what do we do when our mental state kicking our ass w/ a vengeance???? we close our eyes and write whatever the fuck decides to flow out of our hands
> 
> tw for food mentions and not explicit but general and obvious metaphors/references to an ed. stay safe dolls <3
> 
> title: 911 - lady gaga

It was a stuttering cacophony, an affront to the senses on all accounts. Full blown overload, spawned by clashing knives and dashing waiters and waitresses pushing past plates and tables like waves rushing through rocks in California tide pools. It was strange.

Restaurants had never bothered him before, never made his thoughts cave in like walls closing in some shitty action movie he stayed up too late to watch, but he’d also never had _this_ before. Never had this gnawing cold feeling settling into the pit of his stomach like it belonged there, like his stomach, chest, _body_ was its’ to control as it saw fit, and he was just along for the roller-coaster ride it provided.

As Patrick stared down at the ceramic plate on the table in front of him, with half-eaten, half-picked at chicken tenders strung about it, (because, of course,) a full meltdown about a hare's breath away from crashing on him like a cement truck, he decided he hated restaurants. Especially loud ones. And he wasn’t the only one who had noticed his silent declaration, apparently.

Patrick felt a hand slide and hit his across the booth seat, squeezing his fingers a little. He would’ve jolted if he didn’t already know who was sitting next to him. Patrick looked up, cheek bit a little too hard between his molars, and met honey-brown eyes, filled to the brim with gentle concern.

“You okay?” They asked, soft, as if the whole world had been dimmed down to just the two. As if no one else was watching. Patrick thought about lying -- about hiding his feelings, skin of his teeth, and just praying to whatever God he even believed in at this point that things would ease out on their own. But, instead, he shook his head vaguely, just enough of a movement to signify a response. Those gentle browns turned sympathetic, a tan hands grip now tightening slightly. Patrick squeezed back, this time.  
  
“Do you wanna like, go outside for a minute?” They spoke, steady, again as if there were no spectators to this conversation. Like it was just them. Patrick shook his head again, now willing his body to let him use his voice box, _please._

“No, I.. I’ll be fine, promise. Sorry,” he fumbled out, though the words carried a little less weight than he had been hoping for, like the rational part of his brain that held the tiny ounce of self-preservation he possessed was saying _‘please call my bluff. please make me take care of myself.’_

Sure enough, those golden eyes saw right through the cracks, gleaming sunshine into the holes and crevices in the pave.

“Are you sure?” Pete asked, and there went the pin holding in all of Patrick’s stuffing. The good ol’ role reversal.

There was a part of Patrick that wanted to scream no; that wanted to kick and cry and throw a tantrum like the overgrown toddler his food choices suggested he was because, _fuck, no, I’m not._ There was a bigger portion though -- the logical adult that, thankfully, lived somewhere inside even the most med-less version of his body now -- that knew getting angry wouldn’t solve anything. That causing a scene would only make things devolve beyond recognition, and paint him as some fussy diva to anyone unaware of the depth the situation really held. So, instead, he shoved his instincts where he could no longer reach them, and took a deep breath, exhaling shaky on the off-beat and letting his eyes flutter half-closed as he tried to focus away the habitual nausea that was working its way up his throat. Grasping.

“Rick?” Pete’s voice called again, oh so gentle, like Patrick was some stray puppy he’d found leaning on the side of the road and was trying desperately not to startle so it wouldn’t bolt.

Patrick met his partner’s eyes again, almost reflective against the overhead lights. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he replied, “Dessert’s definitely a no-go, though,” he continued, joking at his own expense. Pete seemed to brighten a little at that, heavy tension now successfully lifted.

Patrick only hoped he could keep the act up for the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if this sucked, like i said, i wrote it all in one sitting direct from brain to hands to laptop and then just kinda shot it out into the world
> 
> as always, comments & kudos are appreciated. you can find me on tumblr [here,](https://lionpaws.tumblr.com) and twitter [here.](https://twitter.com/stumphobic)


End file.
